Juliette Binoche is a perfect actress, she does everything right. Her instincts are so pure, they always have been. She’s wondrous.
And she is in Between Two Worlds too, but the film has some big problems, mainly the story being told and how it’s being told. Insurmountable, really. I reviewed for Ebert.
We’re saying goodbye to so many legends. This one’s hard. I immediately thought of the interview Robbie Roberson gave at the very beginning of the documentary Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked the World. The documentary starts with Link Wray, and Robertson’s memories of seeing him on television in the late ’50s and being blown away – not just by his music – but that …. he was an indigenous person too. Robertson couldn’t BELIEVE it. He came from a musical family, everyone played music, but here was a guy on TELEVISION, rocking harder than anyone else ever had before him, changing the sound, changing the way guitars were played – and … the world opened up to this young boy. If Link Wray could do it, if an “Indian” could make it big, then he could make it big too. Anyway, I looked for a clip of that interview on YouTube and couldn’t find it, although the film’s trailer starts with him.
All of tributes pouring in from his friends and colleagues and fans are beautiful and sad: Martin Scorsese, Joni Mitchell … I love his collaboration back in the ’80s with my pal Maria McKee. She’s been sharing some of her memories on Instagram. He seems to have been universally loved.
What are we supposed to do now? Someone like Robbie Robertson leaves a big hole when they go. The hole can’t be filled with a replacement. But the music he made will play on forever.
William Friedkin was “there” in my life before I even really put together that movies were a thing made by humans. As a kid, they were just full-immersion stories beyond my wildest dreams. I’m sure that’s true for most people. It wasn’t until later, as a college student, that I put things together, and learned who he was, what he did, the trajectory and timeline. It’s great to acquire context, but something is lost when you gain more knowledge, one of the ironies of life I treasure, rather than reject.
I saw “The Exorcist” at a sleepover when I was a kid. In other words, way too young. My friends’ parents were far more lax in what they allowed their kids to see. As a young Catholic child, the movie rocked me to my core, terrified me so much I couldn’t sleep that night, and I can say, without too much exaggeration, I was never really the same again. Something had shifted, something broke. Looking back on this first viewing, trying to remove the ballast of intervening years and knowledge-gaining, I remember how the camera angles and sudden cuts jolted me, scared me SO MUCH, even if nothing particularly terrifying was happening onscreen. I now know this is a tribute to the power of Friedkin’s filmmaking. I didn’t watch the film. I feared it. I had no no protection from material like this, no distance. It is still one of my most memorable movie viewing memories.
I feel like it’s the best way to see The Exorcist, if possible. Come to it when you are a credulous child, and way too young for the material. Your faith will tremble, your foundation will never be quite so stable again.
Now THAT’S a movie.
Friedkin’s films would imprint themselves on me more times after that. I saw The French Connection in high school as well as Cruising, when I was falling down my Al Pacino rabbit hole at age 13, 14. Similar to The Exorcist, I was not ready for Cruising. I had no protection and/or context to grapple with it. It was so grownup I knew I shouldn’t be watching it, but I couldn’t look away. I didn’t even know it was directed by the same guy who scared me so much as a grade-schooler with The Exorcist.
The things you come to “too early” have a way of sticking. These films set a kind of standard in my head, a bar by which I would judge other films, even though I was a sophomore in high school and much of what was happening to me, the relationships I formed with these films, was in the subconscious.
Once I was in college, I started getting conscious about the films I watched, the artistic figures I felt I needed to know about to understand filmmaking, this “thing” I was immersed in since before I even had a memory. Friedkin was a major part of my development as a movie-goer: he showed me things I wasn’t ready for, things I didn’t really want to see and yet felt I had to experience. He was always in a category all his own. His vision was wide and deep. His filmmaking is energetic and visceral: it’s from the guts.
I imagine the car chase scene in Bullitt holds the top spot for “car chase scenes” and it’s deserved. But Friedkin was responsible for not one, but two, of the car chase scenes by which I judge all other car chase scenes. The first, of course, is the famous one in The French Connection, where Gene Hackman, beneath the elevated train tracks, chases the train above him. Crazy scene. But the second car chase scene REALLY sets the bar: Friedkin tops himSELF with the car chase scene in To Live and Die in L.A..
The chase feels like it goes on forEVER (and also features a car chasing a train). The chase includes a car driving the wrong way on a crowded Los Angeles freeway. The stunt driving in this sequence is second to none.
Not every filmmaker introduces you to the joy of cinema while simultaneously ruining your childhood.
And I thank him for both.
(Linda Blair’s tribute to Friedkin on her Instagram page is wonderful.)
Here’s the big piece I’ve been working on: to accompany the current Elvis-movie programming on the Criterion Channel, I wrote about Elvis’ movie career for Criterion.
July was busy. I bought a new car. My old one basically disintegrated around me, so much so that the mechanic didn;t even want me to drive it home from his shop. I found a new apartment, and the market where I am is horrific (thanks Airbnb). But I found a unicorn of a place. I’m still pinching myself. Walking distance to the beach. Within my price range. I have a YARD. and a PORCH. I’m still afraid to talk about it out loud. I move end of this month). I went on vacation. I worked on a huge piece that will be coming out next week. So the viewing diary reflects the busy-ness. Also in my spare time I’ve been so wiped out that I prefer to watch hour-long “documentaries” on YouTube about how Bam Margera ruined his life (just one example), as opposed to digging into a movie. Not much brain space right now for anything else (oh, and I’m almost done with volume 3 of Proust’s magnum opus: It is 810 pages long and the majority of the entire book – not even an exaggeration – 600, 700 pages of it – are made up of the descriptions of two parties. It’s ridiculous! And amazing! So here’s what I watched in July.
La Ricotta (1963; d. Pier Paolo Pasolini)
This short film was part of a larger work, with multiple directors. “Subversive” doesn’t even really cover what’s going on here. Pasolini was hip and “criminal” and a trickster – Jean Genet-style, from the underworld with Catholic iconography in almost every frame. I love Orson Welles as the director of the movie-within-a-movie.
The Bear
WOW. I inhaled it. I basically forced Allison to watch it. I am in love with those characters, especially how the arc played out in Season 2. Season 1 established the context for each one, you get to know each member of that kitchen. Season 2 was a totally different format, with each character getting his/her own episode. I was almost surprised by how wholesome – in the best sense – Season 2 was. Redemptive. Second chances: we all should be allowed them. Excellence: some people don’t even know they had it in them until they were encouraged (Marcus! oh my God!) I’ve watched Season 2 twice in a row. I am hoping there will be a Season 3, although now with the strike I’m not sure what will happen. SAG/AFTRA/WGA strong! I support the strike, it shouldn’t have to be said.
The Miracle Club (2023; d. Thaddeus O’Sullivan)
I reviewed for Ebert. Sentimental.
Clash by Night (1952; d. Fritz Lang)
Always love re-visiting this one. Barbara Stanwyck, Robert Ryan – as two hard-boiled hot-headed outsiders with outlaw emotional makeups – and Marilyn Monroe, who is adorable and natural and totally believable. A serious role. I also love the atmosphere established: this working-class fisherman’s beach town: the rickety bars, the rickety houses where tenants are on top of each other, no privacy, the beauty of the ocean and the squalor on land … Lang has a reporter’s eye.
The YouTube Effect (2023; d. Alex Winter)
I reviewed for Ebert. Not sure why we needed this doc. There are exposes on YouTube itself that are far more in-depth but I suppose if you’re not in that world this new doc is a good way to get familiar with the algorithm (which we all should know about ANYway since it is running our damn lives.)
The Deepest Breath (2023; d. Laura McGann)
I still can’t get some of the footage in this out of my mind. Terrifying. I reviewed for Ebert.
The Unknown Country (2023; d. Morrisa Maltz)
I loved this film. I reviewed for Ebert.
Barbie (2023; d. Greta Gerwig)
Went with my sister, sister-in-law and niece during our vacation. We listened to Sinead O’Connor the entire 37-minute drive to the nearest movie theatre. It was the day poor Sinead died. We made a spectacle of ourselves, laughing at every single thing Ryan Gosling did. What’s amazing about it is he played it earnestly. He’s on the level. He MEANS it. That’s why it’s so hilarious. I have some pretty major qualms with it – and with what is going on with it – the advertising, my God – but I can see why it’s a hit. I think back on Lady Bird, which I did like … but my main take-away was: “The movie ends with a girl 1. going to church and 2. calling her mother. How old is the filmmaker again??” It’s an amazingly square ending coming from such a young filmmaker. I don’t mean to get generational-essentialist but … Gen X would laugh you off the block for this much status-quo-propping-up. I grew up with the kids in The Breakfast Club who realized their parents were frauds and hypocrites and making their own rules, lol. Gerwig’s next two movies just perpetuate the sense of overall square-ness. Little Women?? Okay. In the immortal words of Huey Lewis, it’s hip to be square, but I guess I just have a different sensibility. I like outlaw spirits, always have. I like Greta Gerwig and I am happy for her success. I’ve been interested in her since her mumblecore days. But I’ve got qualms. However: the movie is a blast. I don’t find it subversive at all, though. Mattel branding is everywhere, how subversive can it be? So. That’s where we’re at with it! Cue: Dance number!
Steve James’ latest, about the Manhattan Project physicist Ted hall who passed on information about the implosion bomb to Soviet agents: my review of A Compassionate Spy.
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
Nobody writes about Marilyn Monroe like my friend Kim Morgan. Nobody. That’s why I am so excited she wrote about Marilyn for Criterion – and not only Marilyn, but Marilyn’s connection to Method acting, and how important that technique was for her. I especially appreciated the details about Michael Chekhov’s work (and “psychological gesture” – every actor knows about this!). Kim really knows her stuff – about acting, about Lee Strasberg, and about the dazzling Marilyn. Enjoy: Marilyn’s Method.
Thank you so much for stopping by. If you like what I do, and if you feel inclined to support my work, here’s a link to my Venmo account. And I’ve launched a Substack, Sheila Variations 2.0, if you’d like to subscribe.
Mitchell and I, juniors in college, sat at Bickford’s diner one night in Cranston, Rhode Island. We had been to the movies, I think. Our regular ritual. I’d go and pick him up, we’d drive to the movies, then we’d head to Bickford’s for breakfast at 11:00 at night. It was around 11:30 on the night in question, prime time for Bickford’s, and peak Rhode Island. You want to understand Rhode Island? Go to Bickford’s at 11:30 pm on a Friday night. It’s not the ONLY Rhode Island – there are other Rhode Islands – but you can’t fully understand the state unless you immerse yourself in the Married to the Mob vibe of its latenight diner scene, where people gather for pancakes after the first party, hair spritzed to the heavens, before heading on to the second party. It was mayhem. Loud. Mitchell and I, 19, 20 years old, were talking about Pee Wee Herman, with passionate and angry vehemence, because the first scandal had just broke. We were talking about Soupy Sales’ self-righteous public comments in regards to Pee Wee’s “degeneracy” and Mitchell got so angry he yelled across the table at me, and at the phantom Soupy Sales, right before his minds’ eye: “SOUPY. PLEASE!” Frustrated. Like, “Off your soapbox, Soupy, PLEASE.” The two of us lost it, because my God Mitchell MEANT it, I practically turned around to see if Soupy Sales was standing behind me. But it occurred to me yesterday when I heard the sad news, that 1. we were still connected enough to the previous generation that we knew who Soupy Sales was- because of the weirdness of the ’70s/80s television landscape where we saw all these near-octogenarians on Hollywood Squares, etc. – so we knew who he was and what he was famous for even though it was long past when we were growing up and 2. we were barely out of kid-hood ourselves, we were very young, but we could see what was happening. I’m proud of us for that. Shut the fuck up, Soupy. PLEASE.
I was scrolling around looking for intelligent personal reminiscences of Paul Reubens, essays reflecting what he meant to the people who were there as it happened, who “got it”, or those who could dig into what actually he was doing with this character Pee Wee, which he developed in the sketch comedy scene of The Groundlings. Like: what WAS Pee Wee? What was going ON? He was SO funny, and SO chaotic. Almost scary but makes perfect sense if you consider your own Id and what it would look like if you gave it free rein. I came across this essay by Glen Weldon for NPR, and I liked it, so I’m sharing it.
I normally have words in times like this. Pouring out the words is my way of dealing with the sadness of losing an artist who meant a lot to me. Like with Dean Stockwell. I had to (yes, had to) pull my shit together to write the tribute for Ebert. It was my way of processing what he meant and what we lost.
But I can’t seem to do that now.
I was “in” from The Lion and the Cobra, her first. Before she “hit”. She “hit” though so hard with The Lion and the Cobra that even if she stopped there – even if it went no further – I would have remembered her. Even before “Nothing Compares 2 U.” I’d like to point to my brother Brendan’s amazing essay on that album. He says it better than I could.
Here she is, performing “Troy”, the song Brendan goes into in his essay. It’s live. The recorded version is equally as powerful, and the orchestration behind her is chilling. But here she is, doing it live, and it literally – yes, literally – makes the hair on my neck – my arms – everywhere – stand straight up. It’s unbearable, what she brings.
Unbearable and rare. She influenced a generation. But she cannot be replaced. A gift to the world. A gift the collective “we” rejected.
I’m warning you right now: Don’t mention her “demons” in the comments, even if you want to talk about her struggles. Do not use that word. I’ll delete. This request (and it’s not a request) comes from literally DECADES of hearing ignorant talk like that.
Sinéad spoke for herself. And she was RIGHT. And none of the cowards or bullies apologized to her when – YEARS later – the whole Catholic Church was split open revealing the evil for all the world to see. She was RIGHT.
Don’t put disrespect on her name by talking about her “demons”.
The “demon” was not inside of her. The demon was the WORLD.
I loved this film about a Lakota woman, estranged from her family and the reservation, driving from the Badlands down to Texas in the wake of her grandmother’s death. Starring the wonderful Lily Gladstone (from Certain Women, where she first came on my radar – and I cannot WAIT to see Scorsese’s new film, where she also stars: a leap in status, which normally doesn’t matter but for her? An indigenous actress? Unprecedented. And I have high hopes.) Anyway: this is a beautiful lyrical film, filled with real people – not actors, except for Gladstone – and their voices. I reviewed for Ebert.
